The Poor and Pathetically Untalented
by zippedy
Summary: What happens when the X-Men run out of money? (movieverse) -- updated as chapters get written
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer : As if I'd make any money out of this stupid shit.  
  
Summary: I am aware that the characters aren't very much in character, but remember that this is just a bit of fun. Feedback appreciated. Be happy.  
  
CHAPTER 1  
  
Xavier woke up to the wonderful smells of spring. It was fragrant, it smelt of wild strawberries. It was the epitome of greenness but made for the nose. He sat up in his bed.  
  
"Air freshener!" he beamed, eyes wide open.   
  
"Air freshener!" he repeated. "Air freshener like this only comes in packets –" he held up a small rectangular box "—like this! And why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your living room. It's good for your kitchen. It's good for this –" he pointed at his teeth, which sparkled, " – and it's good for your toes."  
  
"NO!" a man wearing a ski jacket and shorts yelled. He ran up to Xavier, who stared back at him, puzzled and genuinely concerned.  
  
"Whatever's the matter?" he asked mildly, assuming his noble 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression.  
  
"NO!" screamed the director, again. "No! No, NO!"  
  
"Alright, alright," Xavier said, looking abashed. "Go away then."  
  
The director, (who was, by pure coincidence, wearing a tag that said 'Peter Jackson') gritted his teeth. He took several deep breaths.  
  
"The line," he said in an unsteady voice. He recollected himself, and started again. "The line is 'And it's good for your nose.' Okay?"  
  
Xavier looked at him. "Ah, yes," he smiled vaguely. "And it's good for my nose."  
  
"No, the line is 'And it's good for your nose'. Your nose, got it?"  
  
"Your nose?"  
  
"It's good for your nose, yes."  
  
"My nose?" Xavier frowned, as the director bit his lip. "I'm really sorry, but we've been working on this commercial for seven days and I still don't understand what you want with my nose. Is there something you want to tell me, Mr Crowe?" He assumed his 'I-can-help-you-discover-your-past' expression once more.  
  
"My name," began Russell Crowe with a painfully manic expression, "is not Russell Crowe. It is Russell Crowe secretly, but I can't let myself know about it. Right now I have to convince myself that I am Peter Jackson, so that I can direct this air freshener commercial properly, alright? Yeah? Yeah? Is everything alright?"  
  
"Yes!" said Xavier, smiling happily. "Why do you want air freshener like this? Because it's good for your kitchen, it's good for your teeth, and it's good for Peter Jackson's toes!"   
  
The angst-ridden cry that followed was the sound of a helpless and innocent cameraman being strangled by Russell Crowe. Crowe turned purple, and then he turned on Xavier. He gritted his teeth, and stared at the old man in rage. Xavier waved.  
  
"Get. Out," he said through his nostrils, which is quite a remarkable thing to achieve.   
  
"But I can help you re-discover your childhood," Xavier said earnestly, his eyes watering with selfless concern.   
  
"Get. Out."  
  
"You haven't given me my wages—"  
  
Crowe threw a thick packet of money and several complimentary air fresheners at Xavier. "Now get out, please!" He knelt down and sobbed.  
  
Xavier clambered into the wheelchair that stood beside the bed, taking the money and air fresheners. He smiled pleasantly at the cameramen and exited the building.  
  
Outside, Jean and Scott were waiting. He joined them, and they walked together down the street. Once safely out of earshot of any members of the air freshener crew, Scott broke the silence.  
  
"Did you get it?" he whispered conspiratorially, lowering his head slightly. "The *ahem*, money, I mean?"  
  
"Yes, the money is in the bag," replied the Professor with a faint smile. "No problems. And, Scott? You don't need to whisper anymore."  
  
"But, I thought this was like in that gangster film, when –"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well done, Charles, but I'm afraid I still don't understand why we absolutely must do this," Jean sighed. "Surely there are more, uh, just ways of earning money?"  
  
"This is just. This money is ours. It's not my fault that some rather mentally incompetent directors choose to pay their actors by the hour."  
  
"You slowed what should have been a two hour acting job to seven days of faked mistakes!" exploded Jean.  
  
"And in the process have paid for the school's electricity bill for last month," Xavier reminded her cheerfully. "Come along, dear. What would you rather do? Ask Kitty Pryde to rob a bank to pay for gas? Allow Rogue to hold innocent people's lives to ransom in exchange for free school supplies?"  
  
"Well, no. But I still feel the students should help in some way." 


	2. chapter 2

CHAPTER 2  
  
As Jean spoke these words, Logan was at the mansion carrying out a task of his own. Having decided that he didn't like kids enough to teach and he didn't like food enough to cook, Xavier had last week given him the title of 'Controller'. This didn't mean an awful lot, except that Logan got control of the mansion when every other X-Men was away (which would have happened anyway, spiffy title or no spiffy title) and he got to sell balloons to the kids. Still, it was something to justify his on-going presence at the school, so Logan stuck with it.  
  
"Attention!" He stalked into the common room, where around twenty students were in between classes. They didn't stop talking on Logan's command, mainly because they knew Storm was still around and so Logan didn't have any particular right to sell anything or order anybody.  
  
A small girl ran up to him, tugged at his sleeve and started crying.  
  
"Afternoon, er, brat I don't know. What's wrong?"   
  
"It's me, Kitty! I don't know what's happening," she gasped dramatically, far from her usual composed self. "Someone keeps on changing my age. One second I'm clearly a fifteen year old, calmly walking out of the wall of Xavier's study, and then I change into this – a ten year old kid who has a tendency to throw herself through the walls screaming "We're under attack!" in the middle of a Physics lesson."  
  
She said this all very fast, but Logan nodded. "It must be due to the lack of proper continuity in minor characters between the two movies. Just remember that there is no movie, and you'll be fine."   
  
"What are you talking about?" asked a fifteen year old Kitty Pryde with a blank look. "What movie?"  
  
Logan opened his mouth to talk, and then thought hard about it. Where had this story about a movie come from? It was extremely odd. Then thought some more and excitedly realised that this could reveal something about his sneakily hidden past. It was mysterious enough, wasn't it? And he didn't know why it had happened. Therefore, it must be a clue. Perhaps Kitty was the one who put the adamantium in his body!  
  
No, Logan The Professor's voice echoed inside his head, sounding tired. This movie you are blabbering about has nothing to do with your past. Neither does chocolate milk. Or the rain falling. Or even the force of gravity. Just because you cannot explain these things does not mean they are part of the genetic experiments that gave you your adamantium skeleton. Now, please ,comfort Kitty and then get on with the task I set you to do.   
  
Sheepishly, Logan looked at his toes. He turned to Kitty, who was eying him curiously.   
  
"You wear that confused expression a lot," she said thoughtfully, once more her observant self. "I think it may be part of your inner psych telling yourself that you are emotionally weak, that you are held within barriers. You are tormented within by a well known condition that –"  
  
"Piss off," Logan growled. "Now, attention, please. Everyone! The Professor has given me a message to pass on to you toddlers."  
  
They listened. Logan continued, pleased with himself. "Right, he has said that this afternoon at 4pm, he will begin to take you in groups of ten to the job centre." A few murmurs interrupted him. He ignored them. "Which means that you will not have your last lesson, but instead you will prepare yourselves for interviews. You will be asked what your abilities are.  
  
"This does not mean any powers you little freaks want to show off," he added hastily, as John smirked and shot a few flames into the air. "Unless they can be disguised as an ordinary human talent. We clear?"  
  
"Actually," Ororo said as she walked in. "The order was for all of us. As in the students and the staff. As in including you, Logan." 


	3. chapter 3

CHAPTER 3  
  
Xavier returned a couple of hours later. He sorted the students into their groups with encouraging smiles and assigned teachers to take them to the job centre. The day would be a long one, but this had to be done.  
  
"I don't want to do this," St. John muttered. In an effort to make him seem more employable, Jean had forced him to wear a clean, new shirt. It smelt funny. "This shirt has been ironed too meticulously."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"This is it?" Jubilee gazed up at it, bemused. It was a tall, shiny building, one had to give it credit for that. But it was also an odd shade of green that was almost blinding to look at. The large doors were wide open, and the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted through it. The window frames sparkled with an attractive and slightly sexy cleanliness.   
  
Scott quickly prepared them once more for their interviews and they were off. The groups that followed afterwards were equally hesitant, convinced that if they did by some miracle end up with a job, it would involve large insects or many tiny babies.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Hello!" said the Job Lady. She was dressed in a stiff suit, pointy green Peter Pan shoes, and delicate glasses that were obviously worn only for visual effect.  
  
"Hi." Jubilee sat down, feeling increasingly insecure. She scanned the room uncomfortably. It was well lit, but there was something about the way Job Lady scrutinised her that made her wish she already had a job.  
  
"So," Job Lady beamed. "You are looking for work. Why?"   
  
Pause.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Hello young man! You would be Mr Drake, then. And why do you want a job?"  
  
"I think, well, um, I need to earn more money…"  
  
"It's not uncommon, you needn't feel alone, dear."  
  
"No, uh, I don't feel – "  
  
"Tell me what you're good at."  
  
"I like sport. And watching it," Bobby thought harder. "Do you have any jobs along, um, those lines? I mean, sport… watching sport?"  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Hi!" John waved cheerfully. "I'm smiley, smiley John!"  
  
"Hello young man! Why do you want a job?"  
  
"Because I need to give something back to my people. I feel selfish, held back. Held back from what I need. It's a horrible feeling." He sniffled.  
  
"Oh, I know how you feel, dear. Don't worry, we'll get you exactly the kind of job you want," she cooed. John beamed. "So you want to, ah, help the people around you?"  
  
"Yes, that's what I said. I would like to help my community. It's full of bastards, so I was thinking of something like drug dealing. Kill them all off. Or more extreme stuff to keep my lost soul entertained. You know, like piloting military aircraft. To start off light."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Ehhh…."  
  
"Hi there. Um…. What's wrong?"  
  
"… Did you just walk through that wall?"  
  
"Oh, no. No! Well, actually, yes. Cool illusion. It's like bending spoons. Wanna try?"  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Sport. Any sport in particular? How about working at a kid's day care centre?"  
  
"Well, no, that's not sport," Bobby laughed nervously. "I would like – "  
  
"Well, that's sorted. I think you'll enjoy this experience."  
  
"Now, er, hang on just a second! I told you what I want – I want to watch sport. This is not –"  
  
"Good luck! Call the next person in."  
  
"No, I refuse! I rebel! I will not be treated like this!" he shrieked as security guards wrestled him out of the building, shoving the details of his new job into his coat pocket.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"Miss Lee? Hello? Miss Lee? Really, I am beginning to doubt whether you want a job or not."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"We don't have any spaces in the military field, I'm afraid." John hung his head pathetically. "However, we do have a place… right here. You'll be helping your community even more."  
  
He peered down at the small slip of paper. His face fell. "Wha… wait, you said I could have what I wanted. That's not – Hey, get your hands off of me, you little fuckers!"  
  
"Call in the next person please, dear."  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
The second they stepped/got thrown out of the Job Centre, the complaints began.  
  
"Cheese tasting," Kitty muttered bitterly. "Highest grades in school and I am paid to eat cheese for the next six months."  
  
"At least you get something slightly nutritious," moaned Rogue. "Ah'm stuck with chocolate."   
  
"What?!" Jubilee snatched Rogue's job details from her. "God, I don't believe this. And you're actually sad about this?"  
  
"Of course ah'm sad," she said mournfully, gasping as the tears came. She added feebly, "Logan won't be there." Jubilee rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'll trade."  
  
"Heh, yeah right. Flea training ain't any better."  
  
"Day care centre? Me?" yelped John, brandishing his sheet of paper at Scott in case he decided to ignore him. He was ignored anyway. "I can understand Mr Bobby-Sensitive getting shoved in with a ton of six year old brats, but what am I supposed to do? Light pretty, pretty incense for them?"  
  
"What do you mean, sensitive? I'm terrible with children," groaned Bobby. "Where'd Logan go?"  
  
They heard the sound of frantic stumbling behind them.   
  
"Logan, ah was so worried! Guess what they're putting me through? Ah'm so young and vulnerable… Logan! Logan, you moron, pay attention!"   
  
"I'm with you," Logan said in a low voice, ignoring Rogue and hitting Bobby's shoulder harder than he perhaps meant to.  
  
Scott stopped walking, turned around and finally spoke. "You? You are going to look after little kids? Expecting money?"  
  
"Yeah." Logan shrugged his shoulders, taking a sudden interest in a nearby leaf. "Why not? I think it could be educational." 


	4. chapter 4

CHAPTER 4  
  
It was 3am the following morning when Jubilee got up to get a glass of water from downstairs. She blearily turned on the kitchen tap, wondering why she was still wearing her yellow coat. Something inside her head said 'Perhaps because you don't have many other clothes in the comics, and you sure as hell won't get anymore now." Rudeness.  
  
Walking up the stairs, she thought she heard voices. Not hushed voices, but the voices of people who either didn't care or didn't realise that they could be detected. Curious, Jubilee tiptoed towards them.  
  
"When the bough breaks, The cradle will fall, And down will come baby…" came the muffled song from behind the common room door. Jubilee opened it. It was dark inside.   
  
"Shhhh, John. Someone's coming."  
  
"Great, ruin my fun, why don't they?" he muttered sarcastically.  
  
Jubilee flipped the light switch. She stared at the scene before her. And began to snicker.  
  
"Look," began John impatiently. "This really isn't what it looks like."   
  
Bobby was in a dress. Not just any dress, he had to be fussy and wear a maternity dress. The bottom of it was draped protectively over a cradle. John stood beside him, carrying an orange in the crook of his arm.  
  
"Actually, this is exactly what it looks like," Bobby whispered.  
  
"Oh. Okay, this is exactly what it looks like. Well, then…!" Pause.  
  
"Why are you wearing a dress?" Jubilee finally asked Bobby, exploding into a fit of laughter.  
  
"This old thing? I like the colour, but it's mainly because I'm tall enough to not trip over it when I walk. And because I'm the most feminine out of us all." He smiled shyly.  
  
Something stirred from behind the couch. "Yeah right, you only got the dress because you promised me I'd get the underwear." It was Wolverine. Jubilee stopped laughing. John spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him.  
  
"You! Why didn't you warn us that someone was coming? You could've smelt her a mile off!"  
  
"Why? We're simply getting in touch with our feminine sides before starting work tomorrow. It's nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
"Who are you meant to be?" Jubilee blurted out.  
  
"I'm the father who divorced the mom, Bobby over there. She can't take care of the baby herself, so she has to rely on John (her boyfriend, Fernando), who does mostly all the work for her. But they only have a baby, that orange, and a pear's on the way. However, I have the significant advantage, having had the experience of looking after my six-year old son, Benjy." Logan proudly indicated the watermelon sitting by his feet.  
  
"Come on, let's get cracking," Bobby said enthusiastically. "Jubes, I don't mean to be rude, but do you think you could go back upstairs? It's just that John gets a teeny bit embarrassed about all this." He winked at him.  
  
"Yeah, go," John scowled. "And I'm coming with you."  
  
"What?" cried Logan. Bobby was horrified.  
  
"I thought… I thought you were my friend," he said weakly. A small tear streaked down his left cheek.  
  
"And who's going to play the boyfriend? Fernando, the kind-hearted but fatally flawed slave of the hideously irresponsible Sallajita?" growled Logan.  
  
"Well, Benjy's growing up quite nicely. I'm sure he'll do," John beamed, patting Logan on the back and waving at the watermelon. He followed Jubilee out of the room, who had not trusted herself to speak.  
  
Once outside, he grabbed her arm. "This never happened," he hissed.  
  
"Right. It never happened. Fernando." 


	5. chapter 5

CHAPTER 5  
  
The day care centre was a large, fairly squarish, light green building. A large sign had been erected near the entrance, which read 'Happy Clowns.'  
  
"Cute," murmured Logan as they drove up to it.  
  
"How many people in there do you think are actually happy?"  
  
"Or clowns, for that matter."  
  
"Actually, just me!" a voice suddenly said just by the outside of Logan's car window. They started in their seats.  
  
"Who said that?" John demanded, peering his head out of his own window. "Oh, it's you. Wait, who are you?"  
  
"And more importantly, what the hell are you doing?"  
  
The rather large woman was, sure enough, dressed as a clown. Her flower water squirt thing hung from her jacket pocket threateningly, and two rosy circles were painted on her cheeks. What was startling, however, was the fact that she was running alongside the car while it drove at 30 mph.  
  
"Oh, don't mind me," she panted, and began to laugh quite maniacally. "I just like the exercise. And I thought I'd welcome you to Happy Clowns personally. Me being the happy clown and all."  
  
The two boys glanced bewilderedly at each other and then turned to Logan. He drove faster.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
Meanwhile, Kitty was in the cheese factory. Her supervisor for her first day was a mostly kindly but slightly eccentric, white-haired old man.   
  
"You have to cut the cheese samples into 3cm cubes," he had said. "Pick them up between your thumb and forefinger – or your thumb and pinkie if you're feeling adventurous, but I wouldn't advise that for your first go. No, not like that – like this! No! Stop it! Stop it! Idiot child! You're mutilating the cheese!" The old man raised his hands to his head and growled quite unexpectedly.  
  
"I'm really sorry," Kitty squeaked.  
  
"Nevermind," he sighed, lowering his hands. "I guess you can't expect much from a cat. Dear, oh dear, what are we coming to these days? Everyone's hiring animals for a man's job."   
  
"Huh?" Kitty frowned, confused as to whether the old man was making a lame pun with her name or being genuinely odd.  
  
He blinked. "You're Kitty, right?"  
  
"Yes, that's my name, but –"  
  
"I know it's your name. God named all the animals, I think. My memory's a little hazy. But, what was I saying?"  
  
"You were saying that I'm a cat, but I really don't think you –"  
  
"Ah, yes! Hold it like this, otherwise you'll squeeze all the magic out of the cheese. If you concentrate and do it properly I'll take you to see the black tabby from the Choco-Locko factory next door later."  
  
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Logan, Bobby and John sat in the rather spacious kitchen, drinking coffee. Clown had waddled away with surprising speed to 'check on the kids'. They spoke quietly, as though expecting Clown's colleagues to enter on unicycles and braid flowers into their hair.  
  
"I don't like this place," Bobby said nervously. "It's too quiet. Where are the children?"  
  
"Clown probably ate them," said John mournfully, fiddling with his lighter more and more carelessly as his uneasiness increased. "She'll eat us as well."  
  
"What kind of a name is 'Clown' anyway? Do you think she chose to be a clown because that's her name? Or perhaps she changed it after she –"  
  
"Does it matter? She ate the kids. Let's call the police and go back to the job centre."  
  
"Maybe we don't even have to get jobs. We could live secretly in the grounds of the X-mansion."   
  
"Evolve back into cavemen."   
  
"Shhh," Logan interrupted. "Do you hear that?" They listened. It was the sound of excited chatter, followed by equally excited squeals. Then they saw. Twenty kids had somehow fit through the kitchen door all at once. They didn't take much notice of the new staff, although several did giggle and point at Logan several times.  
  
"See? They like me," he said triumphantly, as a little girl shyly approached the table. She was brunette and pig-tailed, wearing a pretty pink dress. Her ice cream dripped down her hand, but she remained oblivious to it in that annoying way that children do.  
  
"Hi, there," Logan said, smiling in a way that he thought made him seem more approachable. "Call me Uncle Logan." He did the smiling thing again, which was in fact just contorting his face to incredibly angular forms.  
  
"Hello doggy."  
  
The corners of Logan's mouth twitched slightly.   
  
"Doggy," she repeated.  
  
John stifled a laugh. The girl turned her attention to him.  
  
"Smoking is bad."  
  
He glanced down at his lighter, then at the girl. "Look, kid, I don't smoke."  
  
"Just say no."  
  
"I don't smoke."  
  
"Smoking is bad."  
  
"For the last time, I don't —"  
  
"Can you say anything else?" Logan asked patiently.  
  
"Doggy." She walked around the back of him, took can of whipped cream from the cupboard with some difficulty, reached up to Logan's head and began to spray.   
  
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"No! You can't make mah!" shrieked Rogue, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Stay away! Ah'll- ah'll do something dangerous! Ah am going to throw this vase!"   
  
'This vase' was actually 'this pencil pot', which was in fact a thin, black biro. Rogue threw the biro anyway.  
  
"Marie, you are the one who applied for the job. And so you are going to do it."  
  
"No! Ah want Logan. Mah Logan would never make me do this!"  
  
"It's chocolate. A small, 30g bar of chocolate. What we think will prove to be our finest."  
  
"Mah Logan would never make me do this. He wouldn't. He doesn't even like chocolate," she wept pathetically, ignoring her co-worker and shrinking into the corner. The Choco-Locko employee left the room wearily.  
  
Another Choco-Locko employee asked how the new girl was doing.  
  
"Terrible," she answered. "We've never had such a whiny thing. All she does is ask for something called a Logan."  
  
"Weird. Do you think we should find one for her?"  
  
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Logan paced around the field. It was 3pm. One more hour. The day had gone so slowly.  
  
"Alright," he called out wearily, signalling to two mildly interested young boys. "Let's try this again. You, stand there. Yes, that's right. Wonderful. I am so blessed. Right there. No, don't move. Good. Now, you, throw the ball in the air. Hit it. Use your racket, not your head. Not a bad shot. Hey, why didn't you move? Move, you little freak! You must move with the ball! You and the ball are one! Oh, God. You, stop moving! Wait, why are you moving there? Who the hell would want to move *there*? And you? He hit the ball back at you, so what do you do? NO! Stop using your frickin head!"  
  
"What's going on?" Clown frowned, dragging her large frame towards Logan.  
  
"I am trying," he panted with as much dignity as possible, "to teach them tennis."  
  
"The boys you have here are three years old." Clown gave him a stern look. "Why didn't you start with some of the older children?"  
  
"Can't. They just want to sit and dribble."  
  
"Logan, the youngest children here are the two that you have padlocked into the tennis court. They do not just want to 'sit and dribble.'"  
  
"Well, *I* want to sit and dribble!" Logan yelled, dropping to his knees and tugging on Clown's shirt. "I don't want to do this anymore… I don't like kids. This wasn't educational. I was wrong. Scott's going to gloat and show off until he evolves into a one man circus."  
  
"Circus," Clown murmured thoughtfully.  
  
"Oh God, don't start," Logan groaned, guessing where this was leading.   
  
"When I was in the circus…. Those were the best days of my life. If you want fast money, and if you're not happy here, you could always see if they could take you in."  
  
"What about the other two?"   
  
They turned and looked past the court and across the field. Bobby was creating ice slides for the children, while John was arguing with a small group who were warning him about the hazards of smoking.  
  
"They'll manage." Clown smiled the nicest and most honest smile she had smiled all day. "You have to do what's right for you, Logan. If that means new fields of work, then so be it."  
  
Logan took a dramatically long, deep breath. "Okay." 


	6. chapter 6

Thanks for the comments, I'm glad that you like this. My apologies if this chapter is terrible. I don't have a particularly good excuse, but try and plod your way through it anyway. :) Reviews appreciated as always.  
  
CHAPTER 6  
  
It was the fourth day of work, and the majority of the students were taking their new responsibilities with much more enthusiasm than anyone had expected. Of course, only around twenty had been forced to go to work. The rest had either been thrown out of their interview or were still at a stage when their powers were unstable, and therefore potentially dangerous. As for the X-Men, all but Wolverine had stayed in the school to teach the remaining students.  
  
"Take a seat, everyone," Xavier told the X-Men. Everyone sat. "I have just received a disturbing phone call from Logan."  
  
"Disturbing in what way?" Jean breathed anxiously (I'm not entirely sure how that works). "Is he alright?"  
  
"I believe his exact words were, 'I've joined the circus and I'm not coming back.'" Xavier's mouth twitched slightly.  
  
"Wise decision."  
  
"Shush, Scott. I am very concerned for Logan's welfare, because if I'm not you'll be happy and boring," Jean reprimanded.  
  
"But I thought he was at the day care centre," Storm said, frowning.  
  
"He decided to leave." Xavier shrugged. "I can't think why."  
  
"Oh, I can," Scott snickered. "Yeeaaah, another point to me." He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and carefully marked a tick next to his name. He giggled. "Four more points and I get the girl."  
  
"Shut up," Xavier advised. He continued, "I will not tolerate Logan's behaviour. Firstly, three days ago he left behind an unfinished bowl of pasta. It has grown mould. He must clean it up before running off anywhere. Secondly, although he earns a surprisingly large amount at the circus, we are only receiving $9 of it per week. He spends the rest on unicycle lessons."  
  
"He's changed. This is not the Logan I enjoy wearing short skirts around and then flashing my engagement ring at just to spite everyone around me," Jean mourned, hanging her head.  
  
"Yes, but who's going to clean that pasta up?" Xavier persisted. "We can't afford cleaners because Logan wants to ride a unicycle. I won't allow the kids to help, because yesterday they approached me about a previously dormant aspect of their mutations. They cannot clean up mouldy foodstuffs that are above 7% carbohydrate or their hands will explode.   
  
"Also, remember that position I gave him? The Controller? Well, I've realised that it's actually important. The kids are going crazy now that there's no one to sell them balloons."   
  
A shriek from outside briefly interrupted their meeting. "Bounce the balloons, bounce the balloons, I want a balloon, balloon, balloon, birdy bye bye ballloon—!"  
  
"Well, what do you want to do about it?" Scott asked the Professor, crossing his arms.  
  
"I know where he is. Scott, you will go to him. He'll come back if you say the right things."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's reverse psychology, or something. Oh, I can't remember. Just trust me. I'm very clever."  
  
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Jubilee sat at her special shiny flea training table, head lowered in concentration.   
  
"Go on," she whispered. "Jump! Oh, go back, dearest. Go to Timmy. Yeeeeeess… you're wonderful, you are. Yes, you are! Jump! Clever poppet!"  
  
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"You go."  
  
"No, I went last time."  
  
"You go."  
  
"I'm scared of that kid."  
  
"And I'm scared of what I'll do to her. Go."  
  
St. John sighed, not so much with irritation as dread. He slowly and carefully stood up, and walked towards a small, blonde girl standing alone, way on the other side of the field. The rest of the children were with Clown, playing indoors. She was the oldest of them all, but age had not done terribly much for her maturity level.  
  
"You're back," she commented, cocking her head to one side.  
  
"Don't I know it," replied John sourly.  
  
"You're fatter than you were twenty minutes ago. Your body must be catching up with your face. And you're still smoking."   
  
"I don't smoke." Breathe, John reminded himself. She eyed his lighter curiously.  
  
"Let me try."  
  
"Try what?"  
  
"I want to make fire." Without waiting for an answer, she quickly snatched the lighter from his hand. He blinked.  
  
"Wha —hey, you can't do that!"  
  
At the sound of shouting, Bobby looked up from his newspaper. He saw John in the distance, waving his arms frantically and trying to take something from 'the She-Thing', as they called her. Wait, he'd got it back. It glowed brightly, and looked suspiciously like his lighter. John stumbled, and seemed to lunge at the She-Thing. Horrified, Bobby leaped up from his chair and sprinted towards them.  
  
"Don't do it!" He yelled at John. "Don't do it! Don't hurt her!" He raised his arm, preparing to freeze the fire. John turned around looking slightly confused, holding a flame in one hand and his lighter in the other.  
  
"Holy –" He quickly dodged a stream of fine white mist that shot out of Bobby's outstretched hand. The She-Thing screamed. The scream stopped abruptly as the ice formed around her body, and soon encased her completely.   
  
Bobby slipped, colliding head-first with the block of ice he had just created. Some of it shattered and fell on top of him. There was a brief, shocked silence.  
  
"Look!" John suddenly yelled, gesturing wildly at the girl he had been arguing with only sixty seconds ago. Only her face was visible from within her unshakable prison. "Look, you idiot, look what you've done! She's dead!"  
  
Bobby rolled around on the floor, clutching his head. "What I've done," he groaned. "You were the one who was about to set her on fire."  
  
"What? How? The only thing I saw was you leaping at us and then freezing the girl! Oh, shit, what are we going to do…" He started to kick Bobby. "Quick, get up, unfreeze her."   
  
  
  
Bobby rose unsteadily to his knees, massaging his head. His face was slightly green. "Ducks…" he said faintly, collapsing back onto the floor. He passed out, leaving John to wonder how they would explain this to the police. 


	7. chapter 7

Almost at the end, only a couple more chapters to go. Congratulations for making it this far… you know, this fic has turned out way too long for a bit of stupidity. And again, let me emphasise how this fic should never be taken as anything other than silliness. Especially several aspects of this chapter. Enjoy.  
  
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CHAPTER 7  
  
"How am I doing, Circus Bob?"  
  
"Raise your knees a bit, Circus Logan! That's it, my boy!"  
  
Logan circled his small trailer with ease, laughing in delight. His unicycle teacher was thrown against a nearby hot dog stand as a small explosion struck beside him. Logan stopped laughing and awkwardly got off the unicycle, suspecting that something might be wrong.  
  
"Hey…"  
  
A guy in a dark brown trench coat stood a little way off. He grinned mischievously at the destruction he had caused, turned to Logan and pointed at a name tag. It read: 'Hi, I'm Remy LeBeau, aka Gambit, and the author has no intention of writing me in character either.'   
  
Logan stared in disbelief at Remy. Three days at the circus had clearly affected his awareness of evil, bad, stupid things. "You killed Circus Bob!"  
  
"And Gambit kill you too!" Remy screeched. He picked up a Ferrari, charged it with kinetic energy and threw it.  
  
"You can't do that!" protested Logan, rolling about on the floor to dodge the explosion.  
  
"I can't?" Gambit chucked another Ferrari at him with obvious ease. "Why not?"  
  
"Because we're in a circus. There aren't any Ferrari's here. And, hey! You're not supposed to even have super strength!"  
  
"Like you say, we're in de circus. You, Wolverine, you joined de circus. So what makes you t'ink dat dis is de normal, completely logical X-Men universe?" Remy raised an eyebrow and picked up a fire-truck which had deposited itself conveniently at his feet.  
  
"Yeah, but… oh, please stop throwing things around. Why do you want to kill me anyway?"  
  
"Cos Gambit don't get his place in X-Men 1. Den all de fangirls yell in anger. Along comes X-Men 2. De fangirls yell some more. De fuckin' fangirls do my head in!"   
  
Gambit threw the fire truck, his face turning a little purple. "And it's all cos o' you, Wolverine! You and dat Iceman. Takin' my place as the one who makes fun of ol' Cyke. Iceman takin' my place as Rogue's lover."  
  
"Hold it right there, bub. How the hell can you blame any of this on me?" Logan demanded. Gambit paused.  
  
"Cos… cos you just be standin' there!" He broke down sobbing. Logan's expression softened. He cautiously made his way to where Remy crouched, wondering if perhaps he could also find solace in the circus.   
  
"Hang on, Logan, don't move! I'll save you!" Cyclops dropped out of a tree and blasted Remy about a quarter mile south. Logan froze, and then began to gibber helplessly.   
  
"It's fine, Logan, everything will be fine," Scott said soothingly. "You don't need to thank me."  
  
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"Professor! Listen to me," Kitty pleaded. She didn't have much time. "Rogue's ill, I saw her taken from the main Choco-Locko factory building yesterday. Maybe she got a stomach bug or something minor, I don't know. They didn't take her to hospital. But she was on a stretcher."  
  
"Kitty, listen. There is absolutely nothing to panic about. Stretchers are very comfortable. I was once on a stretcher too, you know. Rogue's probably enjoying herself."  
  
"Professor!"  
  
"What? I am sorry, but I really have to go now. Things have been horrendously busy here lately." He hung up, leaving Kitty to sink against the wall in dejection. She was ready to cry. But then, remembering an old power chant, she felt her spirits lift again.  
  
"I am strong. I am strong," she whispered into the darkness, and began to point at the vague shadows of random objects. "I am stronger than you. And stronger than you. Even you. And – oh my, you as well!"  
  
At the sudden sound of low murmuring outside the study, Kitty shut up. She listened. She inched closer, and listened some more. Then she reached for the phone.  
  
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"Kitty, slow down. What did you hear them talking about?" Bobby said patiently as Kitty babbled in whispers on the phone. St John walked hesitantly towards him, glancing at the dressing wrapped around his head. They had run away from Happy Clowns as soon as Bobby regained consciousness and hitch-hiked back to the mansion. Both felt guilty, although John couldn't resist a smile when he thought about how the situation had arisen.  
  
Bobby hung up. He was grinning.   
  
"Was that Kitty?" John asked. "It's 10.30, where's she been?"  
  
"She's staying the night at the factory. Hiding in an office or something. We have a plan."  
  
"Oh yeah? Better than my plan of denying everything and then immigrating to Guam?"  
  
"Slightly. Kitty overheard some factory employees talking about Clown. She owns the factories. Both of them."  
  
"What? That's impossible… How can she run factories from a day care centre?"  
  
"She doesn't, she just sends out the basic orders and they get on with it. But the sneaky thing about all of this is that the Choco-Locko factory is making chocolate that's *too* good. Rogue's been taken ill because of it. It's so high in chocolate content and the taste is disguised by so many flavourings to make it seem normal that it literally could kill you."  
  
"Isn't that a bit melodramatic?"  
  
"Well, yes. But think about it. We don't want to go to prison. Now, Kitty has proof of this evil plot to kill people. Rogue's practically been kidnapped. Clown owns the factories. What do you think that means?"  
  
"Um…" John screwed up his face in thought. "Yes!"  
  
"It means that we have enough evidence to go to the police about this plot. But we won't. We'll bribe Clown. Kitty will keep silent about the chocolate plot as long as Clown lets Rogue go and invents a cover story about the death of the kid. No?"   
  
"But what about the chocolate plot? We're just gonna let everyone die from eating that stuff?"  
  
"Kitty found something that she thinks can radically decrease the effects of the chocolate. A few bars will give you a short stomach ache at the most. It'll only kill you if you eat too much."   
  
"Well, that's alright then. So when do we do this?"  
  
Bobby glanced around nervously, then lowered his voice till it was a mere whisper.   
  
"Tonight."  
  
Right on cue, moody atmospheric music began to play, much to the surprise of the other students. John shifted weight uncomfortably. "It's been a long day…"  
  
"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "Some time tomorrow then. After lunch, perhaps." 


End file.
